


Turn it up a bit please

by Myessa



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Bottom Freddie, Casual Fuck / FWB Kind of Situation, Dirty Drawing, Dirty Talk, Hide and Seek (but not finding people), M/M, Peculiar (nameless?) Sex Position, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Smut outside the bedroom, Top Roger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 13:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myessa/pseuds/Myessa
Summary: Brian and John will be away for a night.Freddie and Roger make plans to put their non-supervised evening to excellent use.They may or may not listen to their friends' warnings when they carry out their plans.





	Turn it up a bit please

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> this is all fiction, I don't know any of the people involved personally and this oneshot came from my own imagination.  
> First a big thanks to my friends over at our Discord Server, mainly Havvy (deHavilland), scarletjuliet and annieapple24, who either checked my grammar or saved me in another way.  
> If you want, join the party here: https://discord.gg/A6jqFXp
> 
> I hope this isn't too bad.
> 
> Enjoy!

Cluck... Cluck...  
Watching how Brian is putting a word on the Scrabble board, Freddie starts wondering how many times he has refilled his own glass exactly.  
It's definitely the dim light that gives him trouble reading what it is that Brian is spelling out, it must be.  
He grabs the bottle of cheap wine and pours himself another fill, feeling steady while performing the action. See, can't be that drunk, he thinks, self-satisfied.  
Cluck-CLUCK...  
His attention goes to the window at the same moment Brian's does.<br /> The hook apparently has become loose and now it flaps, rather loudly, against the wall with the flowing air.  
"Rog, would you mind closing that window? You're sitting nearest to it," asks Brian, done with the Scrabble tiles.  
Roger nods and jumps up. Clearly, he has drunk something as well since the jump is not nearly as elegant as usual, making him stagger to his feet.  
The blond steps onto the couch below the window and crouches down into a squatting position to be able to push the window closed.  
Freddie is not sure whether his way is the most efficient since the window is barely any higher than the couch itself. Yet he isn't going to complain, Roger certainly makes a sight this way, his bum pointing out backwards from the couch and the flush from alcohol colouring his face somewhat darker than usual.  
Freddie feels the heat glow in his face and quickly looks down at the Scrabble board, without actually seeing it.<br /> The image of Roger in that position still dances in his vision.

"Thank you, Roger," says Brian.  
Freddie barely notices. He is completely focused on Roger.  
"Sure," answers the blond, "how many points did you get there, Bri?"  
That question brings Freddie back to the game.  
"Brian got 16 points. Fred, it's your turn now," says John for Brian.  
Freddie tries but can't concentrate. Eventually, he puts a simple word down and makes peace with the fact he'll lose the round.  
The image of Roger on the couch like that is still on his mind.  
Until, at once, it's not Roger but himself on the couch. That image acts like fuel and lots of possibilities regarding that position run through his mind.  
Again, heat surges over his face.  
Of course, right when it's his turn again and they look at him.  
John gives him a look when sharing his score, a mere 5 points. It is absolutely not like him to put something normal down, especially not if it's not many points.  
Nor is it like him to not fight about whatever Brian puts down.  
Freddie can only shrug.  
If John knows, he doesn't say anything.

After the game ends, Freddie retreats to the room he shares with Roger.  
He knows his casual fuck is always up for some fun but he has to think this through before it can work.  
Deep in thought, he sits down at his desk and starts drawing on a still blank paper that has been lying around. The couch appears, the wall, the window. The coffee table in front of it. Looking down at the drawing he just made, it seems to Freddie like there would be enough space...  
Turning the paper over, he starts drawing again. With a few lines, the start of a squatting figure appears and then he places a couch under it. After 3 attempts, he has a feet placement which looks like it makes the ass stick far enough over the edge. He flips the paper again, reproduces the last drawing below his first and then puts a standing figure right behind the squatting one. The sketch makes it seem like the heights would work. He'd probably have to squat a bit low, but the wall was near enough that he would be able to steady himself. Finally, he adds some texture to both faces, darkening his own hair and filling out the bodies a bit more, to making the figures a little more than a simple line sketch.  
Satisfied, Freddie puts the pencil down and looks up.

"Did you draw me?"  
Roger's voice startles Freddie and he nearly falls off his chair. He turns around to see Roger sitting on his own bed with a book.  
"Shit, I didn't know you were here already, darling."  
"No, you were too busy to even notice me peeking over your shoulder. Why are you drawing me while closing the window? I mean, I'm flattered, but..." asks Roger again.  
Freddie laughs, the situation is rather funny to him.  
"You asked for a bit of fun for this Saturday night. When Deacy and Brian are visiting family, remember?" he starts, once his laugh subsides enough.  
Roger nods, looking at him in confusion.  
"You just gave me a great idea. Or the wine did, not sure. But I'll have to work it out a bit more, still."  
Roger stands up and looks at the drawings again. When he sees the last drawing, his eyes widen.  
"You..." he says, looking at Freddie.  
Freddie nods. "Yes, dear, I would like it if you'd fuck me like that. It'll be clumsy though, be warned."  
Roger shakes his head, smiling a bit.  
"Fred, I don't know how you came up with this but it's weird and you'll be the one with aching legs by the end of it. So, yeah, sure, I'm up for it!"  
"Actually, I've got another idea. It's less odd though, I think."

Freddie opens his second drawer and grabs his notebook to take another loose paper from between its sheets. The paper has more studies, again of Roger and himself, clearly recognizable. Freddie is sitting on the new barstool they had dragged from the heap of discarded furniture when the bar next door had closed, last week. His arse is placed more beside the seat than on it. And Roger is, again, standing close behind him.  
In another drawing, the same position is shown but there Freddie braces himself against something unspecified while Roger is pressed against him, with his face in Freddie's neck.  
Roger's breath catches in his throat. These drawings are more detailed and worked out, making it really easy to picture the scene in his mind. It's hot.  
A smirk curls Roger's lips up.  
"That's an 8 for your homework, boy," he says.  
Freddie looks back from his drawings to Roger.  
"I honestly expected a 9 this time, lady Leighton," answers Freddie with a straight face.  
Roger pouts. Of course, Freddie had to call him by the name of his _female_ sketching teacher back from Ealing college.

Freddie shakes his head.  
"What I thought, maybe we can explore the apartment a bit, Saturday?" he moves on.  
Roger bites his lip.  
"Curtains open? Lights on?" he asks, the idea of possibly being seen making his cock twitch and making his stomach churn in dread simultaneously.  
"Darling, do you wish to scar the neighbour's kids for life?" exclaims Freddie dramatically.  
Then he shakes his head once more, to continue more serious: "Lights on but curtains closed, I thought. If something, they'll see shadows. I want to be the only one seeing you."  
"You've only drawn me behind you," points Roger out.  
"Ha, how are you going to do missionary on a barstool then, love?"

"Please don't turn the place into a bloody pig's puddle while we are gone!" warns Brian at the door, slipping into his clogs.  
Roger shrugs. "I'll try."  
"And, for fuck's sake, please try to not adopt 3 cats in one day again, Freddie!" calls John from the hall outside their door.  
"Don't be dramatic, you know you love Cecilia, Jerry and Clementine, darling!" answers Freddie. He at least has the decency to look somewhat awkward.  
Brian pulls the door closed to immediately open it again, peeking his head around it. "Oh, and don't fuck in shared space or on common property!"  
Clack. The door closes for the second time.

Roger looks at Freddie and they can't hold it. By the time they hear the car doors slam shut through the window, they are cackling.  
"If they only knew!" hiccups Roger.  
Still laughing, Freddie goes to the kitchen to make tea. Cuddling with Roger with some tea and maybe tickling him sounds like an excellent start for their planned evening.  
In the kitchen, Freddie finds that Brian has cooked for them and left the food ready to be heated up again. He almost feels bad for not listening to his warning. Their poor penguin. Sometimes he wonders who will be grey first, Deacy or Brian, from his and Roger's shenanigans.  
Grateful, Freddie puts the prepared food in the fridge so it won't go bad in case they forget it. And, of course, so they can't drop it in case they'll want to use the kitchen.  
When the water is boiling and Freddie picks the kettle off its stand, Roger walks in and smacks his ass.  
Without pouring water in the teacups, Freddie puts the thing down on the countertop and turns around. He catches Roger's lips with his in a searing kiss. He licks over Roger's bottom lip and tries to suck it between his own but to his frustration, Roger doesn't give in and keeps his mouth closed while still managing to reciprocate the kiss.

When Freddie pulls back, Roger sticks his tongue out.  
"What I was going to say before you interrupted me, I prepared a bit as well for tonight."  
Freddie raises an eyebrow. "You did?"  
"I set up a hide and seek game, except you aren't going to find me but the condoms and the 2 bottles of lube that I put away. And I need you to either leave them at the spot in plain sight or remember where I put them because I'm going to fuck you everywhere you find something if you go looking right now."  
The blond looks incredibly smug. And bossy, standing with his hip cocked and his arms folded, with a twinkle in his otherwise steel-hard eyes.  
Freddie's not going to be the one fucking tonight. He bites his lip.  
"And when exactly did you want me to find them, dear?"  
"When we've finished the tea that you were making. I'll watch you search and every time you find an item, I'll lose a piece of clothing."  
Roger flashes Freddie a smile. "Of course, I hid less than the amount of clothing I'm wearing." He darts out of the kitchen, unbuttoning his shirt as he turns, a sway in his step.  
Freddie turns to the tea again, hard in his pants from the sight Roger made and the idea of Roger having him over every piece of furniture they own.

Deciding not to wait for the tea to get ready, he puts the two cups on a tray and bobs the tea bags as he walks to the couch.  
Roger is sitting with one leg stretched over the couch and the other foot on the floor.  
Freddie seats himself between his legs and immediately forgets his tea as Roger slides his hands under his shirt. He scratches his nails through Freddie's chest hair and rolls both nipples between his fingers.  
The hot, wet pressure in Freddie's neck feels amazing and he sighs. Roger sucks the first mark right behind his ear.

"Do you have any idea what those drawings of you did to me?" asks Roger, voice husky and low. He pinches one nipple a bit harder than earlier as he continues:  
"I couldn't think of anything other than us anymore, at night. Actually, as soon as I closed my eyes, I'd see you, here on the couch." he pauses and licks along Freddie's neck to his jaw. Automatically, Freddie moves his head to the side to expose more skin.  
"At first, you'd be standing like you drew, desperately holding onto the backrest while I fucked you."  
Roger bites his earlobe and Freddie shudders.  
"Then I'd see you on your knees on the couch because your legs couldn't hold up anymore, leaning with your arms and chest against the wall. Yet, you were still pressing your ass back to me, so desperate."  
Freddie whines at the image that Roger paints with his words.  
"That's exactly what you are, isn't it? Desperate for cock? You need it so much that you made sure you are ready now, didn't you?" Roger's voice is husky and thick with lust as he speaks.<br /> Freddie blushes faintly, he feels the heat more than it’s actually visible. It is true, he had fingered himself open in the shower, last night.

However, he has no time to wonder how Roger knows.  
The blond takes a hand from under his shirt and holds Freddie's face with it. Though instead of cupping his jaw with his hand, the blond curls two fingers into his mouth for Freddie to suck on.  
"You like that, eh? To be filled up?" Roger goes on.  
Freddie moans around the fingers, his dick straining in his pants.  
"I also imagined you bent over the piano, feet barely reaching the ground, all pretty and needy and taking my cock beautifully while unable to be of any help, busy as you are with holding onto the piano. Would you like that, me having you that way, right there?"  
Freddie moans again, louder this time, with a low sound teared from deep in his core. His hips wiggle of their own accord.  
Roger hisses as Freddie’s ass touches his dick. Roger's free hand grabs his ass to prevent him grinding on the blond.  
"So needy already, maybe I should have you right there on the floor first?" teases Roger while putting his leg over one of Freddie's and placing his foot against the other. He effectively locks the singer's legs in a relatively spread position as he lifts his other foot from the floor and hooks it under Freddie's second leg at his knee.  
It makes Freddie indeed desperate, yet a sly smile curls his lips around Roger's fingers when he notices that Roger, probably unaware of it himself, drops hints for where to find something.

If anything, besides singing that is, Freddie regards himself good at love games. And true enough, he hasn’t forgotten the task Roger had given him.  
"Or maybe I'd hold you down beside the table and touch you just enough to drive you crazy," continues Roger with that same low voice, although he sounds a bit hoarser now.  
He licks over Freddie's ear again and tightens his grip as Freddie writhes. "you'd be such a pretty sight, all flushed and panting and needy. I'll make you scream for more with just two of my fingers in your ass. Right there on the floor, in front of the cabinet."  
"Rog," gasps Freddie, when the blond pauses and takes his fingers out of Freddie's mouth. He holds the base of his throat instead, coaxing Freddie's head to the side with soft pressure of his first finger.  
Roger sucks another mark onto the skin, drawing a long moan from Freddie.  
As soon as he lets go, Freddie turns his head and as much of his body as he can with his legs tangled with Roger's, reaching to kiss the blond.  
Roger bites on Freddie's lip before he lets Freddie's legs go as he pushes him away.  
"Ah, ah, not so fast. You've still got work to do, remember?"

Freddie gets up as quick as he can, which isn’t that quickly, with how his legs tremble with desire and anticipation. This is the reaction he’d hoped to get from Roger by interrupting him with a kiss. He isn't sure how much longer he could take Roger talking like that before coming just from his words and the sound of his voice... If the shakiness of his legs is any indication, not very long.  
He flips one of the pillows off the couch and exposes a blue double package with condoms.  
"I take it that you'd like to try my drawn suggestion?" he comments, silently thanking all cat gods that his voice comes out relatively even.  
From the corner of his eye, he sees Roger fumbling with something in his pocket. A toy?  
He walks over to the piano and lifts the lid that covers the keys, to pop out another strip with two condoms. Freddie tosses them on top of the piano and drops to all fours.  
As he crawls toward the cabinet, he wiggles his ass every time he moves a leg.  
Under the cabinet, he spots a bottle of lube and even more condoms.

_Exactly how many times does Roger think that we will be able to cum exactly?_ thinks Freddie. He's not even sure he currently has this number of condoms in stock himself...  
When he looks up with the lube in his hand, he catches sight of Roger in the process of taking off his sweatpants, revealing a very clear outline of what's waiting for him in the boxers Roger is wearing. Oddly, he is still wearing the t-shirt he wore under his vest but has taken off a sock.  
Freddie cocks his head, studying Roger's questionable order of undressing.  
The blond has indeed discarded 3 items, though. Thus he is not breaking his own rules, concludes Freddie.  
Roger feels his eyes and sensually palms himself through his boxers, making Freddie lick his lips at the sight.  
Quickly, he returns to his task, placing the lube on the table and dropping the stack of condoms on the floor somewhere between the table and the cabinet.

When he heads for the kitchen to continue his search, suspecting Roger has put something there as well, he is called back.  
"Freddie, come here."  
Roger's voice is low and strong. Freddie doesn't tease now; the thought doesn't exist in his mind anymore and he obliges. He drops on his knees, in front of Roger where he is sitting on the couch with his legs wide. The shirt is gone too now, notices Freddie.  
Roger palms himself again and Freddie bites his lips in anticipation - but the blond shakes his head.  
"Strip for me," he commands, staring into Freddie's eyes.  
That's easy and a moment later, Freddie is as scarcely clothed as Roger is.  
"Further," says Roger once Freddie stops, "get naked for me."  
The blond nearly wills the fabric off Freddie, gaze fixed on the offending item while Freddie slides his boxers down.

Next thing Freddie knows is the blessed feeling of being engulfed by wet heat, called a mouth in common language. He moans loudly and shivers at the pleasure as he throws his head back. Roger bends far forward and takes Freddie all the way to his base, licking around before pulling back completely. Instead of Roger's mouth, Freddie now feels a less warm, yet tighter thing sliding over his dick. After a second his brain catches up. A cock ring. It's going to be an exhausting night, he thinks. But it's Roger, it will be more than worth it.  
Still, Freddie can't stop the whine.  
"Hush, it's okay," soothes Roger, using an arm to quickly swipe the curtains closed.  
He pulls Freddie up on the couch and pushes him down on his back. Seemingly out of nowhere, he holds a bottle of lube and pours some on his hands to warm up while sucking on Freddie's nipples.

Freddie buries his hands in Roger's hair, scratching the scalp with his nails and pulling the strands tangled between his fingers, making Roger moan.  
When Roger straddles him, Freddie makes sure he has a leg pressed against the blond’s cock.  
"Now we'll see how loose you still are, you naughty boy," says Roger, making Freddie arch up and press his leg against Roger's dick in anticipation of Roger's fingers.  
The blond rubs over Freddie's hole before easily slipping in two fingers at once, making Freddie moan.  
"You've been thorough, baby," says Roger, almost surprised. He makes quick work of prepping Freddie further, urged on by the constant motion of Freddie's leg against his cock.  
"Please, Roger, I'm ready. Please, just fuck me," asks Freddie.  
"All right. I hope you've worked it out by now since I'd like to start with the thing that requires you to squat on the couch," answers Roger with a devilish grin, pulling his fingers back and getting up.

Freddie scrambles to his feet, praying his trembling legs will hold him up for at least a few minutes and gets into position.  
"You’ve got to get lower, Fred," comments Roger as Freddie puts his hands against the wall.  
"Can't you get John's platforms?" jokes Freddie over his shoulder before Roger thrusts forward, pushing into him. Any words he might have had left are punched soundlessly out of his throat.  
The blond grabs Freddie's hips and forcefully thrusts into Freddie, enjoying the high-pitched cry it elicits from Freddie.  
"Yes, God, Rog," pants Freddie when Roger is balls deep in him.  
It already burns in his legs but this way he can be the perfect height for Roger to fuck him while actually standing up right. The force the blond has this way is truly magnificent.  
Soon, Freddie's hands move to the backrest as Roger predicted in his fantasy, his death grip on it the only thing keeping him up as he cries out with every thrust from Roger.  
If the cock ring hadn't been there, he'd surely have finished after at most 5 thrusts.  
The burn from the strain on his legs intensifies to a point where it is on the verge of being too much. Still, Freddie holds for just a bit longer, trying to get as much of Roger's deliciously vicious pounding into him. Until his legs simply collapse under him.

Roger is quick to adapt, pushing Freddie forward and getting on his knees behind him on the couch. That way there's noticeably less force since he's standing on his knees in the soft and unsteady seat of the couch. But to Roger’s credit, there's barely a pause while they switch positions.  
However, a few moments later, Roger pulls out with a groan, closing his fingers tightly around his own cock.  
"Fuck, Freddie," he gasps.  
Freddie sags to the side in the pillows and kisses Roger. The blond kisses him back, rather brusque. Freddie buries a hand in his blond hair and uses another to squeeze Roger's ass until he bucks into him. He lets Roger lick into his mouth, relishing in the taste and the pressure on his lips.

"Now, where do you want to come? Barstool or piano?" asks Roger, stroking Freddie's throbbing dick agonizingly slow. He’s more tired already than he’d anticipated and saves a few of his planned locations for later.  
"Can't walk," breathes Freddie, amazed that he is still able to form actual words in his breathless state. The sensation of Roger's hand finally, finally touching him is almost too much.  
"The piano then," decides Roger and he nudges Freddie up.  
At the piano, Freddie bends forward and rests himself on the smooth, cold surface. He's barely in position when Roger takes a hold of both his wrists and bends them onto Freddie's back.  
"You'll come on just my actions," whispers Roger, his hot breath tickling the sweaty skin of Freddie's neck and face.  
"You'll come so hard you'll forget your own name and it will be all my doing."  
"Please," is all Freddie can say. But Roger isn't done.  
"You know, you're beautiful, laying like this, open and inviting for me," Roger says, spreading Freddie's butt cheeks while stepping between his legs. The tip of Roger's hard, warm dick rests just below Freddie's hole, slightly pressing into Freddie's perineum.  
"Still wet with lube, clenching around nothing, impatient for me. So pretty indeed, wholly ravished, your hair sticking in your face and flushed red all over," describes Roger.  
Freddie wishes for a mirror, he'd love to see Roger working him. He writhes and pushes his ass back right when Roger slightly pushes forward, doubling the pressure on the sensitive area just below Freddie's balls. Freddie moans loudly, wordless, until his brain reinvents two words:  
"Roger, please!"

Roger slips back into him and hums at the tightness when Freddie clenches around his dick. It only takes a few thrusts for Roger to feel the heat pooling in his belly again and he slips the ring off Freddie's dick right before he loses his rhythm.  
Freddie is the first to go, cum splattering at the side of the piano and the wooden floor below it, his back arching up beautifully and his head tilted back. His mouth is opened in a soundless scream and the sight he makes, together with the contractions of Freddie's body around his own cock, make Roger come too, deep inside Freddie with a loud groan.  
When they return to earth, Freddie swiftly wipes most of his mess off the precious piano with his hand, hoping that will be enough to prevent any stains.

Together they get back to the couch and collapse, barely conscious enough to pull the blanket from the floor over themselves.  
They'll clean up after sleep, thinks Freddie, clearing his throat.  
That's when he remembers why he made tea in the first place.  
Roger points a single cup out to him.  
"You forgot," he says, shaking his head.  
Freddie is asleep in Roger's arms before he can process what the words actually mean.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3 I hope you had fun.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are immensely, but really, appreciated! ;)
> 
> Wishing you all an amazing day, beauties!


End file.
